


Escape

by clairytale



Category: Original Story, The Institute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:43:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairytale/pseuds/clairytale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarice tries to escape the Institute.<br/>It doesn't go as planned.<br/>This is near the end of her stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

Your name is Clarice Drosselle, and you are sick.

Not sick in they way others are. Your heart is aching, you’re worn out from doing nothing, and your brain is pounding with a horrible headache that was induced from banging your head against the wall.

Now you’re back in the room where this mess all started.

You’re in your room in the Institute, and you have no roommate to converse with, no music, no laughter, no nothing. Just you, two metal beds, two bleakly colored night tables, and a dresser that you have all to yourself.

You really shouldn’t be here at all. You’re not mentally ill, you have no history of self harm… You’ve got no problems, other than the fact that you _occasionally_ pop a pill to soothe your headaches. The headaches of a past injury come and go. They’re not so bad anymore.

It’s the nightmares that are your problem.

Every day is like a nightmare, and every night is like a daydream. You can’t really tell if you’re awake or asleep, and that, frankly, terrifies you.

You miss your brother more than anything in the world.

You miss the way he’d tease you, calling you skinnier than a rail when, in reality, he might’ve been skinnier than you.

You miss his hair, how when he would open a window, it would blow back, threatening to come right off his head.

You miss how he’d tap his foot when he was impatient, waiting for you to finish fixing his watch or something.

Gosh, you miss him.

You can’t miss your parents, they left you two when he was a struggling teen and you were a baby.

They didn’t want you.

The authorities have been trying to contact them since the day you were admitted, but they’ve given no response as of late.

You don’t want to be with them.

You want your brother.

Currently, you’re lying on your back on the hard, stiff mattress, a bandage over your forehead from the previously inflicted wall-wound. Your feet stick over the edge just a tad, but who cares? They can’t keep you in here forever, so why ask for a bigger bed? They’ll just refuse, anyways.

Your pale, almost hazel red eyes stare at the ceiling for awhile.

Then you make an important decision.

You’re going to get out.

And you’re going to dance all the way home to your brother, the finger extended towards the people here in this horrible facility.

Oh boy, you can’t wait! But first, a plan must be crafted.

________________________

A draft blows through the entire building. It makes you shiver all the way to your thin, undernourished bones. You sit up, your light blonde hair shaking as you do so. “Now’s the time,” you mutter, getting off the bed, wearing a t-shirt and boxers.

Yes, you’re a girl and you’re wearing boxers. Your brother bought them for you because he thought nightgowns were silly, and that real women wore t-shirts and boxers to bed.

You hadn’t argued with that. You slip on your pair of socks, slipping your way to the window, jamming a device you crafted earlier in the day onto the wall, turning off the alarm as it turned on.

This was going to be good.

You open the window, the cold air making you twice as cold, due to your boxers and t shirt not being so thick. As the moonlight bathes you in an iridescent glow, you take a deep breath, jumping out the second floor window, landing with an “oof” and a few grunts. You stand to your feet, trying to shake off the rippling surge of shock through your body that entered upon landing.

As you slip past the thick foliage, onwards to your goal, the fence, a sense of urgency fills your lungs.

You need to get out.

And you need to get out now.

____________________

”***, they found me!” You cry from the top of the fence. You had climbed up in a fit of anger that the trees weren’t tall enough, now sitting there, trying to decide your fate. You hear Dr. Ellton cry to you, to not go, to stop before you get hurt, bad.

You don’t care anymore as to what he thinks. You leap off the fence, rolling in the sloping grass. But you have no time to think before you hear the security guards running after you, filling your veins with even more adrenaline. You rush off into the trees, hoping to catch them off guard with a few zig zags and loop-de-loops, your socks slipping off into the fallen leaves.

_____________________

You see the apartment complexes of downtown now as you burst from the trees, standing on a hill. You had been running all night, and now you weren’t at all prepared to keep going, your lungs filling with so much air you can’t take it all in.

You rush headlong down the hill, still hearing people racing after you in a vain attempt to catch you. You rush down Shopton St., through Alton Alley, and finally, to the apartment building you live in with your brother. You race up the stairwell, choking on air and tears.

This was the best moment of your life. You reach the door, banging on it with all the energy your fifteen year old hands can muster, weeping as you screamed, “Yale! YALE! Open up! Please!” You beg through sobs of joy.

The door creaks open.

And there, standing in the doorway is….

_______________________

You’re furious.

Absolutely furious.

You can only see red, and everything is smooshed together in a blur of tears. “Let me go!” You scream, kicking your legs in hopes of hitting some unfortunate security guard in the groin or in the stomach.

Your brother is being pushed back by a normal police officer, and he looks to be having the same reaction that you are.

In one moment, everything stands still to you.

You see him lock his gaze with you, and he cries, “I’ll get you back! I swear it!”

______________________

You’re sitting with your head in-between your knees atop a stiff, hard, cold mattress whose warmth has lost all meaning.

Your arms are interlocked around your knees, covering your face with your thin, pale arms.

You now have a guard stationed at your door twelve hours a day, the other twelve with your door locked with three bolts.

Your window has been boarded up, and the other bed is still void of a person.

You are now utterly alone.


End file.
